Marrying Harry
by Heptagon
Summary: Hermione wants a quiet morning in the Library. Harry wants revenge. Colin wants to go out with Parvati. They all get what they want. Except for Colin.


**Summary**: Hermione wants a quiet morning in the Library. Harry wants revenge. Colin wants to go out with Parvati. They all get what they want. Except for Colin.

**Note:** A sequel to "Kiss me, Harry" and "Slytherins are devious bastards". Since I've apparently lost my ability of writing short and fluffy stories, this one here is a little longer and a little more dramatic than the other two. Hope you're fine with this.

* * *

><p><strong>Marrying Harry<strong>

Hermione walked down the stairs, smiling to herself. It was Saturday morning, and the best time for spending several pleasant hours in the library. Of course, any time was good for going to the library, but on Saturdays she had the bonus of having the whole of it just for herself. Unlike Sunday evenings, when even the procrastinators found their way into the library. Friday evenings were even better, actually, but she'd been rather distracted last night. No need to blush, there was no one around.

"Hermione."

She started, stopped, and blushed. But it was only Harry, and he knew better than to decipher her thoughts.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted him with a smile, "You're up early."

"I was waiting for you."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, wondering if a proposition to watch a game of Quidditch would follow, one that she would amiably decline.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about," Harry said, sounding rather serious. Of course, it was too early in the day for Quidditch. But if Harry was up, and there was something serious he needed to discuss with her… the thing with Harry's problems was that they tended to be bad on a much larger scale than anyone else's. Her concerns must have shown on her face, because he cracked a smile and reassured her,

"It's not a bad thing."

"Oh," Hermione said, relieved. She took the last few steps down the stairs from her dormitory, crossed the Gryffindor common room to Harry, and sat down at his side.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It's…" Harry said, hesitating. He looked away, took a few deep breaths, then directed his gaze to the carpet in front of them.

"It's something I've been thinking about for a while," he said, "There's something I've realized. Something important. And I'm going to do something about it… it's just that I'm not sure how to best approach it…"

"Is this about Ginny?" Hermione asked knowingly. Whenever Harry got shy and nervous, it usually had something to do with girls. Girl. Ginny.

But to her surprise, Harry shook his head, "No, it's not about her. It's about, well, us."

"Us? As in me and you?" Hermione was puzzled. She was puzzled for a good five seconds, before the realization hit.

"Is it about that time I kissed you? I am very sorry about it, Harry, honestly. I promise I won't do it again, I won't do any such thing. I'm done with all that violent jealousy thing. I apologized to Daphne, too."

Harry frowned, and shook his head, "It's not about… well, in a way it is, I suppose. But I'm not angry with you. Having to deal with a guy like Malfoy, it's no surprise you want to punch and yell at people all the time."

"I do not punch and yell at people all the time!" Hermione cried out in indignation, "and Draco-"

"Let's not talk about Malfoy."

"Oh?" Hermione said, her ire growing, "is this going to be one of those Malfoy-is-bad-for-you speeches? Because you were doing so fine, Harry."

"I was a fool."

"You still are," Hermione snapped, stood up and turned away. "I'm going to the library."

"No, wait," Harry said, grabbing her hand. When she looked at him, he was kneeling before her, holding her hand, and gazing imploringly into her eyes.

"Hermione, I love you," he whispered.

She felt part of her anger melt away. "I love you, too, Harry, but you know I—"

"Marry me."

"—don't tolerate this kind of—wait, what?"

"Marry me, Hermione."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and it took her for a while to recover her voice.

"Harry… you-you've gone bonkers…"

He smiled up at her, "I assure you, I have not."

When Hermione said nothing, he continued, "I realized this only a little while ago. I think it was that kiss, actually, that made me see the truth. I love you, Hermione. I think I've loved you from the first moment I saw you, from that first time you stepped into our compartment on the Hogwarts Express, looking for Neville's toad. I've been an utter fool, fooling myself as well as anyone else, but I've seen the light now, and, Hermione, I love you."

"Umm.." Hermione said. That was the best she could do at the moment.

"Hermione, please, give me a chance," Harry begged.

"No… Harry… I'm too young to get married!" Hermione exclaimed, and then wanted to bash her head against the wall. _Yes, Hermione, that's the best reason you cannot marry Harry. Remember Ginny? Ron? Draco?_

"What about Ginny?" she quickly inquired.

"She'll be fine," he smiled sadly, "she wants me to be happy."

"She wants you to be happy _with her_. We all do."

"But I'd much rather be happy with you," Harry insisted.

"But I'm already taken, Harry."

"By Malfoy!" Harry scoffed. "He does not deserve you. He only makes you angry and violent. I could make you happy, Hermione. Please, let me make you happy. Marry me, Hermione."

Hermione looked around in desperation. No, this couldn't be happening. Not now, not like this, not Harry. No. This was bad. This was worse than bad. This was downright awful.

She felt a touch of something cold against her fingers, and when she raised her hand to inspect it, she saw a gold band round her ring finger. A ring. An engagement ring. From Harry. Who wanted to marry her and make her happy. Because he loved her.

Oh, oh why hadn't she got up an hour earlier! Then she'd be in the library now, doing homework and other pleasant things. Merlin knew, though, how long Harry had been waiting for her. So that he could declare love to her. So that he could propose marriage to her. Why couldn't he have simply asked her for a game of Quidditch!

Now there was a ring on her finger and she was supposed to marry Harry! How could a day that started so peacefully, with a wonderful promise of library, go this awful this quickly!

Blinking away tears of anger and despair, Hermione started to take the ring off, only to cry out in surprise and pain as it bit her hand, slithered off her finger, dropped to the carpet and crawled under the armchair.

Hermione's mind went blank. She stared at the floor, her mouth open, trying to form a coherent thought. Any coherent thought.

"It crawled under the armchair," she muttered, and only then became aware of the laughter. Harry was rolling on the floor, laughing. Literally.

Slowly, but steadily, realization dawned on her. First came relief, then happiness, then… anger. Lots and lots of it.

"Harry!" she cried out. "How could you do this? It was not funny!"

"You… should… have… seen… your… face!" Harry managed between cackles of laughter.

"This is not funny!" Hermione stamped her foot. "You really scared me. You turned the whole damn world upside down. I thought that we'd all be ruined, unhappy, divided for ever. You made me think I've lost my best friends for ever! How could you do such a thing, Harry! It's cruel."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, brushing away tears of laughter, not sounding very sorry at all.

"No, you're not," Hermione snapped, glaring at him reproachfully.

"I am, I really am," Harry insisted, trying to assume a look of apology.

"How could you do such a thing! How could you even think of doing this?"

"I don't know," Harry said, "I guess I've had too much time to think. All those lonely nights in the Hospital Wing, they get to you, you know. You start thinking all kinds of weird stuff."

"So this is about that time?" Hermione asked sharply.

"I do love you, Hermione – not romantically, don't fear – but I do not appreciate having to duel with Malfoy every time you have an argument with him. I do try not to get between the two of you, but for some reason you always drag me there."

"I said I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I'm sorry, too," Harry said, now looking indeed somewhat apologetic. "This won't happen again, either. But you should have seen your face."

"Let's see _your_ face when I'll tell Ron and Ginny about your little joke!"

"Yes, I'm sure they'd like to have a laugh as well," Harry said, too smugly.

"No one with be laughing the way_ I'll_ tell the story," Hermione promised darkly.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, still smug. "Let's kiss and make up."

"Not funny," she pressed through her teeth.

"Let's not kiss and make up, then," Harry suggested, "you're sorry for causing me to end up in the Hospital Wing, and I'm sorry for my silly childish revenge. Won't happen again, I promise."

Hermione frowned, "What about the part about Draco making me violent and angry? Was that part of the joke?"

"Sure," Harry nodded, "You were violent and angry before getting together with Malfoy."

"Good. And I don't go round punching and yelling at people. At least not at those who do not deserve it," she ended sharply and meaningfully.

"Yes, I deserve it," Harry admitted. "You can punch me if you want. Oh wait, you already did."

"Harry…" Hermione said, giving him a look.

"Hermione…" he said, sending the look back unopened.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," she shook her head.

"Help me up?" Harry suggested, holding up his hand. She gave it a suspicious look before taking it and pulling him up from the floor. He smiled at her,

"Hug and make up?"

Hermione glared at him for another moment, then gave up and gave in.

"If you ever do something like this ever again, Harry," she warned, "I'll tell Draco and Ginny the non-funny version of it, and we'll see your face then."

"Nothing pretty to look at, I'm sure," Harry laughed, keeping his arm around her shoulders.

"I'll go to library now, I you don't mind," Hermione said, trying to extract herself from him.

Harry didn't let go yet, "I'll come with you."

Hermione sent him a look of utter suspicion, which made Harry laugh.

"I have homework, too," he explained. "And no one's up this early. Maybe I'll find something nice about Quidditch. Don't worry, I won't bother you long."

o.o.o

Colin Creevey waited for another minute, then let out a long deep breath. Slowly and a little painfully – he'd been crouching too long in an uncomfortable position – he climbed round the corner and sunk down on the topmost step on the staircase from the boys' dormitories.

He had woken up early that morning, because he was a man on mission. He'd been appointed by Lavender and Parvati to find a sensational piece of news for their Sunday paper, the Hogwarts Howler. And Colin had been ready to prove his worth. He'd been ready to turn the castle upside down, to search its every nook and corner, to investigate every story and rumour, to drag out any scandal, kicking and screaming, if necessary. Maybe then Lavender would see that he was a true reporter, and Parvati would realize he was no longer a little boy but a grown-up man, and she might say "yes" the next time he asked her to Hogsmeade.

Colin had been ready to do whatever it would take to reach that conclusion. However, he hadn't been ready to stumble upon a piece of sensational news the moment he stepped out of his bedroom.

His hand holding the camera was cramping; he'd taken some wonderful shots. He hadn't heard everything, and some that he'd seen hadn't made much sense, but the whole of it couldn't have been mistaken – Harry Potter had asked Hermione Granger to marry her, he'd put a ring onto her finger, they had hugged and left the room together. There was only one explanation.

And _that_ was a sensational piece of news.

o.o.o

Hermione spent a relatively pleasant three hours in the library. Harry remained at her side, yet surprisingly without whining about it or otherwise bothering her. He'd even done some of his homework, without asking her help! Was he truly that remorseful about what he'd done? In any case, she had forgiven him by now, and withdrawn her anger. Maybe she'd been a bit on the angry and violent side lately; now it was time to be calm and mature. She'd apologized to Harry, she'd apologized to Daphne, she was done with putting people into the Hospital Wing and was very sorry for ever having caused such things. Calm and mature. It didn't seem very hard, at least in the peaceful atmosphere of the deserted library.

Done with his homework, or at least done doing his homework, Harry had grabbed a Quidditch magazine and was now absorbed in it. How anyone could be this absorbed in something as dull as Quidditch… Hermione shook her head and put her quill away. She had finished the Charms essay, though it was not due for another three weeks, which produced the dilemma of whether she should hand it in on Tuesday, or wait a little longer in case she thought of something to correct or add to it. In the meantime, there was the paper in Transfiguration to think about. Professor McGonagall had not given the topics yet, but she'd said that if there was something particular anyone wanted to write about, they could approach her with it and she would take it into consideration.

Now, there were many interesting aspects of Transfiguration that Hermione wanted to further investigate, so the decision was not an easy one. She could make a list of all of them, and then maybe write down a few key points about each, just a basic plan of what she would write about in her essay. Yes, that sounded good. First, however, better to check this essay one more time.

"Finished?" Harry asked her as she was putting the essay away.

"With this, yes," Hermione said, standing up and lifting a pile of books from the table, "I've got to put these away."

Harry had put away his own book when she returned to the table, carrying another pile.

"I thought you were done," he said, pointing at the books.

"With Charms, yes, but I thought I'd get started with Transfiguration essay."

"Charms? Transfiguration?" Harry looked at her, a little panicky.

"Not for this week," Hermione calmed him down. "Though it's never too early to do your homework."

"Not on an empty stomach," Harry grinned. "I didn't dare have any breakfast, in case you decided to wake up earlier than usual."

"Serves you right, playing such tricks on me," Hermione narrowed her eyes, yet her tone was teasing, reassuring Harry that he'd been forgiven.

"_You_ didn't have any breakfast either," Harry pointed out, "It's unhealthy to starve yourself like this."

Hermione was about to say that it was even more unhealthy to propose to unsuspecting people, but changed her mind. That topic was closed. She had forgiven and been forgiven, and all was well now. And she was kind of hungry, now that he'd mentioned it.

"Alright," she said, "I'll put these books away, then, and we can go."

o.o.o

In a friendly discussion about Quidditch and how it was never too early to do one's homework, Harry and Hermione left the library. It was a few hallways further that they passed a Hufflepuff boy a few years younger, who gave them a long look, grinned, and raised his hands with both thumbs up.

"What was that about?" Hermione wondered once the boy had left their sight.

Harry shrugged.

Hermione filed it as odd in her mind, then thought no more about it. At least until they came across two first year girls, who looked at them, giggled, looked at them, and giggled again.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, stopping in confusion.

"Don't mind them," Harry said, sounding a little embarrassed. Apparently it wasn't the first time such a thing had happened to him. But of course it wasn't – he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Looked Hot. Hermione almost giggled herself, thinking of that particular nickname.

The next person they ran across was Terry Boot, but when Hermione opened her mouth to greet him, he gave her a look of such condemnation and reproof that she was rooted to the spot. Terry shook his head, shot them another dark look, and then walked away without another word.

"What was _that_?"

"That was strange," Harry concurred.

It went even stranger than that. All the people they met on their way to the Great Hall regarded them with such long, hard looks; some were grinning, some were giggling, but most were giving looks even darker and dirtier than Terry. They even received a "And I thought you were decent people".

"What is wrong with everyone?" Hermione breathed, mystified.

"Haven't got a clue," Harry frowned, as puzzled as she.

"I don't have a very good feeling about this," Hermione said, subject to yet another dark look.

"Me neither," Harry admitted, "Let's talk to Ron, maybe he knows what's happening."

They had reached the doors of the Great Hall by now, and could see that it was full of people. Not full of people eating their lunch, Hermione realized, but full of people holding a sheet of parchment and talking with each other. Her bad feeling intensified. Something was very wrong here.

The realization that maybe they shouldn't just walk into the Great Hall reached her a moment too late, when they'd already stepped through the double doors. She stopped and considered a retreat, when she suddenly became aware of the terrible silence around her. She raised her eyes – every conversation in the hall had ceased, and every single person was directing their gaze straight at them, and there was nothing particularly nice about those looks. She didn't even notice if anyone in here was grinning or giggling, she was more concerned with the daggers nearly everyone were glaring at her.

Harry, perhaps a little more accustomed with being stared, or even glared at, grabbed her hand and tried to drag her towards the Gryffindor table.

"Ron's not here," he said, "nor is Ginny. But there's Neville, and Dean. Maybe they can tell us something."

Judging by the scowl on Dean's face, she was sure he would have something to say. Neville looked more sad and disappointed than anything else. What on earth was going on here? Almost automatically, Hermione's head turned towards the Slytherin table, hoping against hope to see some friendly faces there, and how ironic would that have been?

But there was no irony, and no Draco, just glares even more murderous than from the other side. Her gaze locked with Pansy's. "You are going to pay for this," she mouthed to her. Besides Pansy, Daphne was giving her a look slightly less murderous and immensely more reproachful.

She pulled herself free from Harry's grip and headed the opposite direction. As she approached the Slytherin table, Pansy stood up facing her, while Daphne grabbed Pansy's arm as if trying to restrain her from acting out her threat.

Hermione was not afraid of what she might do to her; this was the Great Hall, after all, and even Pansy wouldn't dare curse her under the careful gaze of several Professors. At this thought, she glanced towards the Professors' table and with a start found it unusually empty. She knew some of the Professors went away on weekends, but there had always been several of them here to keep the peace. Of course, even now their table was not completely deserted. There were Professors Flitwick and Sprout, deep in conversation with each other, as if they hadn't noticed the perilous situation right before their eyes. And then, a couple of seats away, there was Professor Snape, anything but oblivious about the situation before his eyes, since he was gazing straight into Hermione's.

And not glaring, she noticed with surprise. No, his gaze was wistful, and almost wishful, as if he were staring at something dear lost to him forever. And _that_ was more horrible than all the death glares she'd received this far.

But there was no more time for Hermione to worry about Professor Snape; she had reached the Slytherin table and now there was Pansy to worry about.

"Pansy…"

"You slut!" the girl hissed at her, "I should have done away with you a long time ago. Well, no time to waste. If you'd just step out of the hall—"

"Pansy," Daphne spoke, tightening her grip and shaking her head.

"You can't let her get away with this!" Pansy growled, turning up the murderousness in her gaze as she stared at Hermione. "Did you really think you would get away with this? That it wouldn't come out one way or the other? You _know_ that nothing stays a secret in Hogwarts for very long, you have used it for your own advantage."

"Pansy…" Hermione tried to interrupt.

"Of course you knew it would come out," Pansy continued, cutting her off. "You wanted it to come out, I'm sure. You're probably very happy it happened this way. Saves you the trouble of having to break the news yourself."

"Pansy, what are you talking about?" Hermione quickly interjected.

"I should curse you to bits and pieces, I should. But maybe you're not worth even that," she said, her expression turning into one of barely controlled anger and contempt, but also something else which might have been hurt and betrayal.

"I wish the worst of luck to both of you. I'll hope you'll be very miserable with Potter."

"Miserable… with Harry? What do you mean?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Give me the paper," Pansy nudged Daphne. "Here, have a look at the sensational news brought to us by the Hogwarts Howler. A special issue. Put together and published only in a couple of hours, because how could anyone keep a news like this to themselves?"

A parchment was shoved to her face, and there, in front of her eyes was a photograph taken the very same morning, a picture of her standing in the Gryffindor common room, with Harry kneeling before her, holding her hand, and sliding the ring – that later bit her and crawled under the armchair – onto her finger.

It was funny, but this explanation had never occurred to Hermione. It had happened the very same morning, just a few hours ago, and of course she knew that nothing would stay secret in Hogwarts for very long. And the fake proposition had taken place in the common room, a place open and available for anyone who took the trouble, or even liked to get up early in the morning. Of course, not every one of them would have a camera at ready, and not every one of them would go running to Lavender and Parvati with what they'd just seen, and maybe some of them would not just jump to the conclusion before getting all their facts straight.

Of course, many of them would. A piece of news this sensational could not be kept to oneself. Whoever had seen them, the rumour would be loose by now. However, since it was Colin Creevey and not just anyone, the rumour was supported by convincing photography.

Harry Potter marrying Hermione Granger? Where did you hear a nonsense like that? What, saw it? Rubbish, they must be making this up. Won't believe a word of it before I get it from Potter or Granger themselves. Silly gullible people, believing all kinds of rubbish.

But accompanied by a photograph, and such a photograph, the silly rumour couldn't be dismissed quite that easily. A forged picture? But it was difficult to forge magic photographs, and Colin had got himself a brand new wizard camera. And to what purpose would they do it? If the news was fake, it would come out, and no one would buy the Howler again. Therefore, it had to be true. Besides, there was the photograph, and photographs don't lie, do they?

All this went through Hermione's mind during those few seconds the parchment was under her glance; it was then pulled back and Pansy hissed to her,

"Get out of my sight, you slut, before I change my mind and curse you right here and now."

Beside her, Daphne kept quiet.

Hermione took a deep breath, silently cursing Harry. His silly little revenge had turned back against them, and several people had get hurt in the process. No wonder Ginny was absent, and Ron, and dear Merlin! Draco. She wanted to yell at Harry for causing this mess, never mind her decision of being calm and mature, but she realized at once that yelling at Harry was not the priority here. First they had clear away this mess, and make amends to people they loved, those people who'd got hurt by their irresponsible joke. Harry's irresponsible joke, she wanted to argue, but knew that part of the blame was hers; if she hadn't caused Harry to end up in the Hospital Wing one time too many, he would have never thought to take revenge like this.

"Granger, you are truly testing my patience here," Pansy growled, bringing her out of those thoughts.

"Right," Hermione said, snatched the paper from Pansy's hand and crumpled it up into a little ball. "This is nonsense, all of this. I'm not going to marry Harry."

Pansy's eyes narrowed, "The least you could do is tell the truth. The whole school knows about it. It's a little too late to deny things."

"Creevey should get his damn facts straight!" Hermione exclaimed, "Before he goes running to those Howlers about what he thought he saw. This is rubbish, nonsense, all of it. I say it again, I'm not going to marry Harry."

Pansy snorted, furious, "Yes, I can see how he could have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Potter kneeling in front of you, slipping a ring to your finger, of course there are thousands of different explanations for that!"

"There's at least one," Hermione said, "It was all a joke. He didn't mean any of it. The proposal, it was all a joke. That's what Creevey saw and took a photograph of, a stupid little joke Harry played on me."

"A joke?" Pansy frowned, snatched the paper back and smoothed it out, "Doesn't look much of a joke to me, what do you think, Daphne?"

"_I'd_ like to know whether he told you it was all a joke before or after you accepted the proposal," Daphne said, showing that she, too, could be smart and cruel.

Pansy's mouth dropped open as her eyes narrowed further, "What? A joke? He played a joke on you and you accepted, thinking he meant it? Whoa. You're going to be truly miserable now."

She smiled a wicked smile, though there was little merriment in it. It must have been of some consolation to her that Hermione would be unhappy, but it didn't change the fact that hearts had still been broken and people dear to her were deeply hurt. On the other hand, it was almost poetic justice, or something like that. Of course, she still preferred wand justice, had he not specifically forbidden her to do anything of the kind. That in itself almost broke Pansy's heart.

"I did not accept Harry's proposal," Hermione insisted.

"Then pray tell, why is he slipping a ring to your finger? Just to try if it's the right size?" Daphne inquired, turning up the nastiness in her tones.

"I did not accept the proposal," Hermione repeated, "I was in shock, and he used my unawareness to put the ring on. And when I tried to take the thing off, it bit my hand and crawled away!"

"Biting engagement rings, very popular now," Daphne nodded sarcastically.

"Look," Hermione held up her hand, "no ring. I'm not engaged to Harry. I'm not marrying Harry. I don't want to marry Harry. I don't love Harry, not like that. I definitely don't want to marry Harry. In fact, I don't want to marry anyone, I'm too young to get married yet. But one day when I do want to get married, it won't be Harry that I'd choose to marry."

"This is interesting," Daphne said in a tone that made Hermione want to yank her hair again, "Please tell, who would you choose?"

"None of your damn business!" Hermione almost shouted.

"How about Ron Weasley, he's looking rather fine these days?" Daphne suggested. "Or maybe Neville Longbottom, he's your friend, isn't he? Or, I'd suggest, Dean Thomas, he's truly a treat."

"You marry him then," Hermione snapped at her.

"One day I might," Daphne replied casually, "but we're talking about you here."

Repressing an urge to yank her hair like she'd never yanked it before, Hermione ignored Daphne and turned to their friend, "Pansy, please believe me. This is all a bad joke, nothing more. A bad joke that should have never happened in the first place. There are no romantic feelings between me and Harry. He's in love with Ginny, and I'm sure he'll marry her one day. And I, I have Draco."

"And what about you? Will you marry Draco one day, when you're old enough to get married?" Daphne asked, displaying a degree of straightforwardness she'd never displayed before.

Hermione glared at her.

"It's a good question, Granger," Pansy said softly. "We're not his older brothers, or even sisters for that matter, but we'd love to know if your intentions with Draco are honourable."

"It's too early to make any promises," Hermione said, trying to avoid the question. "We're still in school, we're too young, anything could happen in the future."

"But what would you like to happen?" Daphne asked. "Right here and now, as you are. What would you like to happen one day?"

Hermione sighed, knowing she wouldn't get away without answering the question. There was only one thing left to do – tell the truth and hope that Daphne and Pansy would not go running to the editors of the Howler with that specific piece of news. Or to anyone else. Or to a specific someone else.

"They are," she whispered, aware of the blush on her cheeks, "My intentions. They are honourable."

Daphne smiled in triumph, but Pansy suddenly declared, "Granger's a bitch."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, bewildered, "I just tell you about my deepest, most fervent wish, and you—"

"Granger's a bitch," Pansy repeated. "That's the new password to Slytherin House. Go. Explain things."

"Your deepest, most fervent wish, eh?" Daphne grinned as Hermione turned to leave.

"Watch out for Millicent," Pansy warned her. "She might be there."

o.o.o

On her way into the Slytherin dungeons, Hermione remembered Harry. Last she'd seen of him, he'd been heading towards the Gryffindor table, towards the unfriendly welcome he was sure to receive there. She wondered how it had gone for him – she had a pretty good idea. Right now, he was probably on his way to their tower, possible thinking about her just as she was thinking of him. But no; he was thinking of Ginny, and to get to Ginny he'd have to get past Ron.

Hermione felt a sudden and very odd surge of relief that she had to face Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode was an angry violent girl – now, Harry might have called Hermione angry and violent, but she was the sweetest, mildest of angels compared to Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode didn't stop at sending you into the Hospital Wing, she made sure you never left it, at least not for a while. The too many experiences Hermione had had with Millicent Bulstrode had always left her bruised and painful. Of course, lately Bulstrode hadn't bothered her much, and she could guess who had ordered her not to. How they'd managed to stop her or why she had decided to listen to them – that remained a mystery. But now the orders had been withdrawn, Pansy had probably given Bulstrode free reign to hurt her as much as she wished—and yet she was happy it wasn't Ron she would have to face.

Bulstrode wanted to hurt her because she was an angry violent girl. Ron, however, would have wanted to hurt her because she had broken his heart, and the heart of his most beloved sister. Harry was going to face hell.

She wondered about the probability of both of them ending up in the Hospital Wing. She had better chances getting past Millicent now that Pansy had given her a warning. She wondered if they were good enough. Explaining things to Draco, however, might be the hardest thing she'd had to do since… erm… the last time she had to explain things to Draco. Good thing, she thought, that they had had so much drama, because by now she'd learned how to deal with it. If only she could learn how to make the drama go away.

Her feet had brought her down the now familiar path. The familiar darkness, coldness, and eeriness was all around her, and the cold rock door right before her. She took a moment to steady herself, took several deep breaths, and took out her wand. There was a second of hesitation – maybe it would be better not to provoke? But Millicent Bulstrode did not need provocation. And she did not need Millicent Bulstrode's hands around her neck, if that could have been helped.

"Granger's a bitch," she muttered, part of her wondering how they had managed to change the password that quickly. The door slid open, letting her pass from the dark cold eeriness of the hallway into the dark cold eeriness of the Slytherin House. It wasn't all so bad now that it had grown familiar. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, the comfy green armchairs were strewn all over the place, even the skull motif on the walls wasn't so bad once you grew familiar enough for not to notice it at all. Ah, but the warmth of the flames, and the softness of the armchairs that were comfortable for so many things; and rather uncomfortable for some other things.

She had let her mind wander, and that was a fatal mistake to make in a room that included Millicent Bulstrode. Hermione realized this, and raised her wand. There was no sound other than the cracking of the fire, and the eeriness was creeping up at her from all sides, but the really important thing to know was from which side Millicent Bulstrode was creeping up at her. It was a game of cat and mouse, of spy and attack, of patience and more patience. Millicent Bulstrode was not known for her patience, but right now, Hermione had even less.

"_Protego_!" she cried out first, sighing in relief as the golden force field of protection softly settled around her. The feeling of security lasted for another moment, then something rammed into her and she was thrown to the floor.

Thank Merlin for the think soft carpet, Hermione had time to think before she hit the hard cold floor. Ouch. The sleek and shiny carpets were possibly very stylish, at least that's what Pansy had told her, but they were not so comfortable to fall down on, or to be pushed down to. They were also not so comfortable for many other things, thus the necessity of using armchairs. She'd have to talk to somebody – Pansy – about this. Certainly there were carpets that were both comfortable to fall down on and stylish.

Millicent Bulstrode did not waste time on idle words or threats. By the time Hermione gained her bearings, the angry girl's hands were fast around her neck. As she tried to wrench them off, she remembered the three important points Pansy had given her on how to best handle Millicent in a fight. They were, 1) never get into a fight with Millicent, 2) whenever you see Millicent, run away from her as quickly as you can and don't look back, and 3) find a way to avoid her completely. None of these were applicable in the current decision, but it was good to reflect on how great a friend Pansy had become to her.

The thing about Millicent Bulstode that you had to remember was that she didn't trust her wand as much as she trusted her hands. And that was a truly refreshing perspective a witch could have: wands can be knocked out of your hands – as Hermione's incidentally had been – but you could always count on your own hands, at least until someone blasted them off you. And as long as they were your own hands, not something sleek and silver from a notorious dark wizard. But Millicent's hands were flesh and blood and muscle, and it occurred to Hermione it was time to use her own, instead of reflecting about Millicent's.

Hermione tried to pry the angry girl's hands off her neck. When that didn't help, she sunk her nails deep into the flesh and muscle of those hands. But that didn't help either, because she'd just clipped her nails to escape Pansy giving her a manicure. She calculated it would buy her at least two days until Pansy thought of the nail growing spell. Not a very good decision, in retrospect.

Red and blue sparks were shooting up before her eyes. It took her a precious moment to realize that this was not the consequence of her losing consciousness, but meant that her hand, moving on its own accord – bless it! – had finally made contact with her wand.

She wrapped her fingers round it, pointed it and then whispered with the little breath she still had left, "_Relashio_!"

Millicent was flung away from her; she barely had time to scramble to her feet and stumble across the room towards the bedrooms, and that was all she had time for. Already, Millicent was getting to her feet. As she dove for shelter behind an armchair, Hermione reflected that not only had she provoked, she had also reminded Bulstrode the usefulness of a wand, and the girl certainly had hers nearby. Soon, the monotone green and silver of the common room would be lit by many other colours. Millicent knew the definition of a fair fight – she also knew how to avoid one.

Hermione cast another shield charm, and in good time, too, because the next thing she knew was the armchair exploding to a thousand pieces. She dived behind another one and extended her shield to around it. She had done well; the fireplace was behind her, casting ample light upon Millicent while reducing herself to nothing more than a dark figure. On second thought, however, you could attack a dark figure almost as well as a non-dark figure. Millicent definitely could. She felt her shield receive several blows.

This was fine. She could keep up her shield and redo it whenever it started to fail. As long as Millicent didn't try to creep round her and attack her from behind, she would do well. Of course, she wouldn't be going anywhere either. The moment she stepped out from behind the armchair, the angry, violent girl would launch at her again, and they would end up on the floor, Millicent's hands around her throat.

She could keep this up for ever – or for several hours – but this was not the point, not the goal. She had to get past Millicent, and for that, something else had to be done. Millicent didn't look the type to listen to rational explanations, or to be stopped by those, but it was the only thing Hermione could think of. Besides, she'd come here to tell the truth, and if she had to start with Millicent while she was wrecking her own common room – maybe they could later re-decorate it in something else than the skull motif –, then so be it.

"I'm not going to marry Harry," Hermione shouted, listening for the reply. Another curse hit her shield.

"I mean it," she added, fortifying the shield, "It was all fake news. There's nothing between me and Harry. He didn't propose to me and I didn't accept. I'm not going to marry Harry."

Then she had to pause, because suddenly her shield was hit by a cascade of curses fired so rapidly she barely had time to keep it up. Well, she hadn't exactly expected this tactics to work, had she?

"Save your pretty voice for spells!" the sneering reply came unexpectedly. "_He_ cannot hear you. He's silenced the room."

"I didn't…" Hermione started to argue, saw the uselessness of it, and then continued anyway, "I'm not telling this to him, I am telling this to you. I'm not going to marry Harry."

"And you think I give a damn?"

_No_, Hermione thought, _no, I don't_.

"Of course you do," she shouted back. "Draco's your friend. You're just trying to protect him."

Millicent snorted, but surprisingly didn't fire another curse. "Nice girlfriend you are to him. Marrying his arch nemesis, not to mention declaring it through the school paper. I have to give you this, Granger, you truly are an evil bitch."

Hermione realized there was actual, sincere awe in Millicent's tone.

"For the last time," she breathed, supressing her furious desperation, keeping her voice level and disdainful, a tone that almost matched Millicent, except for the awe, "I'm not going to marry Harry.

"It's not like he's all that hot anyway," she added with a snort, thinking of all the ridiculous fan girl babble she'd heard about him.

"You take that back! Harry Potter is the sexiest man in Hogwarts!"

Ringing silence followed this announcement, and it took Hermione several moments to realize that she'd stopped breathing in shock. Curiously, she wasn't the only one.

"Err…" she eloquently spoke when the silence seemed to go on for too long.

There was a deep intake of breath that wasn't hers, and then, "I'll let you into Draco's room and you'll never tell a word of this to anyone. Deal?"

"Deal," Hermione managed to utter. She listened to footsteps leading towards the entrance, heard the door sliding open and then back to its place, still confused and shocked about the happenings. Just in case this was another trick, Hermione waited for a little while before stepping out from behind the armchair. She looked around – the room seemed empty and somehow less menacing than before. The damage, she saw, was minimal. Unfortunately, the skull motif had survived entirely. Only the remains of one armchair lay in the middle of the room.

Hermione was about to repair it, when it dawned on her that there were more important things for her to do, and that she better do them before Millicent changed her mind.

Well, think about that. Millicent Bulstrode had a secret crush on Harry Potter. Who could have thought of that? Now _that_ was a piece of sensational news, all true and sensational. And secret, because she'd given her word. She wondered whether giving Harry some warning of it would violate the deal. But Harry could look out for himself. Even if he had to deal with a lovesick Millicent Bulstrode. In any case, it was none of her business.

Her business waited for her behind this very door. Hand on the handle, she stood, trying to prepare herself. She knew that Draco was going to make this difficult; he was good at that. That was one of the reasons their fights escalated and dragged innocent Boys-Who-Lived and not so innocent Girls-With-Yankable-Hair right in the middle of everything.

This was how their fights usually went: it started with something relatively small and manageable, then Draco got difficult, Hermione got annoyed, either side would throw an insult, the other side would respond in kind, then there would be shouting and slamming of doors and finding friends to kiss to prove a point. If she wanted to avoid the unnecessary drama, she had to act before things got difficult and annoying.

She turned the handle. Surprisingly, it was not locked. Or maybe not so surprisingly, what with Millicent standing sentinel before it.

"Who was the chick who won the All-England Wizarding Duelling Competition of 1430?"

Hermione froze. She had expected coldness, anger, or disdainful nonchalance, but not a casual question about a historical event. Draco was sitting at his desk, doing homework, by the looks of it. This was not what Hermione had expected at all. Suddenly her chances of making everything right seemed to take a deep plummet.

"No?" Draco prompted, "Then get back outside and watch the door, like I paid you to do."

Relief overwhelmed Hermione. He'd mistaken her for Millicent! And he'd paid Millicent to guard his door, which answered a few questions. And raised a few others, because from what Hermione had learned from Pansy, Millicent didn't exactly have a money problem, unless having too much money was a problem. But she'd probably taken the chance to punish the one that had stolen Harry Potter from her. Maybe she'd better warn Ginny instead. But no, Ginny could truly take care of herself.

"The Duelling Competition of 1430 was won by Alberta Toothill, who overcame the favourite, Samson Wiblin, with a Blasting Charm," Hermione recited, "Wiblin later insisted that Toothill's sister from the audience had Confounded him a moment before the final blow, but the claims were refuted. Toothill's sister was only eleven at that time, anyway."

Nothing more to add about Alberta Toothill, her sister, or Samson Wiblin, Hermione finally locked her gaze with Draco's. For now, he looked mostly shocked and bewildered,

"What are- How- Where's-?"

"Millicent?" Hermione shrugged, "Don't know. Don't care."

Leaning against the door, she continued to look at him. Therefore she saw the shock ebb away from his face, saw it twist in pain for a briefest of moments, before arrogant contempt poured over it. His trained expression reminded her so strongly of the Malfoy she used to know and hate that she had to swallow an instinctive insult – something about paying girls to guard his room. But no, she had seen the expression he was so careful to disguise, and on that she concentrated, staring into his sneer.

"Well, well, Granger," he drawled, "I heard congratulations were in order."

"You heard wrong," Hermione replied curtly. And then, seeing his mind move towards constructing an insult, she quickly added,

"You've got to tell me, Draco, how you've managed to change the House password so quickly. Because, I was thinking, it's actually a very good idea and I've grown quite tired of repeating to every single person I meet, that no, I'm not marrying Harry, that the Howler got it all wrong, that the photograph was nothing but a stupid prank Harry played on me, in revenge for all those times I've dragged him into our fights and got him hurt, and that Colin Creevey should get his damn facts straight before jumping to the conclusions, and that Professor Snape should not look at me as I was something precious he lost, and Daphne is too sly and sneaky for her own good, and Millicent has serious anger issues she should discuss with someone, and if she insists on blasting the common room to bits and pieces she could at least have the courtesy to destroy the skull motif so that I could persuade Pansy to redecorate it in something different… but that is not the point, and it would be too long a password for anyone to remember. But the point is that I am not marrying Harry, he did not ask me, and I wouldn't accept even if he did, so there's no need to congratulate me for anything."

She took a breath then, hoping he'd listened at least to some of it, and not used the time to come up with an insult suitably devastating.

The arrogance was still present on his face, but now it was overcast with confusion. Thinking back to her words, Hermione realized they had not been the clearest ones. Well, that's love. Makes rambling idiots out of the best.

"Maybe I wasn't clear enough…" Hermione began, hoping to do better this time around.

"You are not marrying Harry?"

"No," Hermione said, and shook her head.

"No," she repeated, in case the first 'no' had not been clear enough, and then, because she got a sudden ridiculous thought of Millicent listening to them on the other side of the door, added, "He's not even hot, or anything."

It was much later when Hermione realized that even if Millicent had been listening on the other side of the door, she still would have not heard anything. Thank Quirina the Quiet for Silencing Spell. And thank whoever else for Locking Spell. Because while Millicent Bulstrode standing sentinel before the door might seem like a very good idea, in the end of the day, you could still trust only in your own skills of magic. And rational explanations always worked, one way or the other.

o.o.o

"Get your facts straight, Creevey."

Fat Lady levered a gaze upon him, "And have you learned your lesson, young man?"

"Yes," Creevey muttered, slipping into the common room as the painting swung open. Keeping his eyes on the floor to avoid seeing all the other eyes directed at him, he almost made it to the staircase.

"Colin, Colin!" he then heard a familiar voice.

"Den-" he barely had time to acknowledge his brother, before Dennis continued in excitement.

"Colin! There a story of _you_ in the Howler! They say you made up the news of Hermione Granger marrying Harry Potter because you wanted Parvati Patil to go out with you. Look, they even put in a photograph of you."

Colin looked, because it was impossible not to the way Dennis was shoving the paper at him. His own face of embarrassment and humiliation stared back at him – pretty much like looking into a mirror – under the bold letters of the title "I did it out of love."

"And you know what else?" Dennis went on, "They said that… those nice girls that make the paper… they said that since they had to let you go, they need another photographer. They said that I should try out. They said that one Creevey brother for another, that's a good deal. And then she, the darker one, the one you love, _she_ said I was cute!"

Colin kept staring at the picture. Embarrassment, humiliation, defeat and a little fear – yes, he needed no other mirror.

o.o.o

"Did you do it?" Hermione asked.

"Did I do what?"

Hermione sighed. "The paper, Ginny. Did you make them print an apology in the paper, demolishing all of Colin Creevey's hopes and dreams in the process?"

"You blame _me_ for that? When you're friends with a bunch of cold heartless sneaky Slytherins?"

"They said they didn't do it."

"And you believe them?" Ginny inquired, incredulous.

_Yes_, Hermione thought, remembering all the _Why didn't you tell me you were going to torture Creevey, I had such a great idea of how to do it, what do you mean you know nothing about it?_

It might have been a performance, all of it, but for some reason Hermione doubted it. Might be for the fact that Pansy and Daphne actually started pulling each other's hair because of it, and Daphne had once sworn she would never let her hair be pulled because of a performance ever again.

Or it might have been for the confession she had managed to wrench out of Ron earlier.

But Ginny was tougher to break than her brother, so Hermione let the matter drop.

"You're right, Ginny," she said instead.

The redhead gave her a sly pondering look,

"Did you do it? Change the password, prolonging and intensifying the misery and embarrassment of Colin Creevey?"

"No, that was Professor Snape," Hermione answered truthfully.

"Snape?"

"Yes," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. "Apparently, if you want to change your password really quick into something improper without explicitly stating your reasons for it, you ask Professor Snape to do it."

"I thought you had to ask your own Head of House."

"Exactly," Hermione grinned.

"What?" Ginny exclaimed. "You transferred into Slytherin House?"

"No!" Hermione said, "What I meant is…"

But before she could explain, she realized Ginny had exclaimed the false accusation in a common room full of people in a voice audible to everyone. And if there was something the Gryffindors really hated, it was a House traitor.

"Ginny!" Hermione admonished.

Ginny folded her arms and sat back, "Stop kissing my boyfriend and sending him to the Hospital Wing. Oh, and— What? You cannot sell out Gryffindor to become a Slytherin!"

"Library!" Hermione squeaked, leaping towards the door. She heard Ginny's laugher and cries of "I was only joking, Herms!" as the portrait closed up behind her.

Daphne might have been scary in her straightforwardness. Millicent might have been scary for her violence. But there was no one, _no one_, as scary as Ginny Weasley when she wanted to be.

"You're so right about that," Ron spoke up from beside her.

"Yeah," Harry agreed on the other side.

"Library," Hermione breathed the one word that made sense in confusing times as such.

"Do we have to?" Ron whined.

"You know," Harry said to him, "I found a book about Quidditch, it was really quite interesting…"

Hermione smiled, as her feet took her down the much-trodden path to the Library, Harry and Ron discussing Quidditch behind her. They hadn't reached a corner yet, when a familiar voice shouted after them, "Come back, you idiots! I was just joking!"

Everything was back to normal.


End file.
